


At His Right Hand

by sahrmael



Series: So A Star Did Burn [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Comfort, Family, Family Feels, Gen, ardyn could have been a fucking bamf with the light too, ardyn isn't a complete bastard but he has a big bad plan, from my ff.net, he's my absolute favorite ff character, i made myself ouch inside but in a cute and good way, kid noctis and uncle ardyn bc i deserve it, noctis was lost during the attack on tenebrae, pre-ffxv, someone give darin de paul a fucking award for this role
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahrmael/pseuds/sahrmael
Summary: Too often in his nightmares, Noctis' tired mind recalls the day on which Tenebrae burned. The day on which he was lost. Frightened and seeking solace in the dark hours of the morning, the boy scurries to the side of his guardian, and hopes for some manner of reprieve.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia & Noctis Lucis Caelum
Series: So A Star Did Burn [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992832
Kudos: 26





	At His Right Hand

It _always_ begins in _fire._

The cacophonous sounds of active warfare are those with which young Noctis is frighteningly familiar. It is with those all-seeing blue eyes of his that the prince has witnessed carnage and death, the likes of which ought to be unfathomable to a young and tender mind.

He sees spirals of flame leaping to the the heavens in earnest, hot on the heels of a series of deafening explosions. He feels the smoke assault his watering eyes, even as he is whisked hurriedly away from black plumes, carried from one end of a glistening white manor to the other. Where flowers had once been used to liven up the rooms and halls, Noctis now sees only wilted husks, drained of both water and color. His small hands find a more solid purchase in the folds of his savior's coat, pulling himself close enough to feel the chaotic thrum of the man's heart through several layers of fabric.

The air is clear as the palace halls open up to a bridge connecting the hills of the winding manor to the nearest mainland. They begin to cross when shouting from behind reaches the boy's ears, and the fast grip of strong hands holding him tight vanishes abruptly. Noctis is left weightless for a moment, finds himself scrambling for something, _anything_ , to keep from falling to the earth far below. The little prince looks skyward as he descends, catches but a glimpse of the man in black as he turns away, vanishing in a short burst of heavenly blue light.

_He is alone._

Darkness claims him as he strikes the ground, coughing and sputtering for breath, tasting ash and blood on his tongue. His body _aches_ , and the heat of the flames swallowing up the manor high above spurring in Noctis a great fear: _This_ is his end. He will die here, left behind, and _forgotten_.

All he sees, as eyes begin to close – for what the prince imagines will be the last time – is a halo of auburn fire closing in on him, caught by golden light of the sun.

_"My, what a sight you are, little prince."_

* * *

He wakes in a fit as the dream breaks suddenly, like a fever, at the slightest of sounds, clutching empty air whilst twisted tightly in his bedsheets. Gasping eagerly for breath, the tears come despite his best efforts to choke them back, and the boy hangs his head in shame, though there is no one to see or hear him weep.

It is on frigid nights such as this that young Noctis kicks himself free of his entanglement, slipping silently across polished floors and out his bedroom door in sock feet. He's not been comfortable sleeping on his own for many months now and – while Noctis knows full well that the monsters and wars _do not_ reside within these walls – he is ever fearful of the possibility of the unseen as he makes his way to a door at the far end of the corridor.

Nimble fingers curl about the bronzed handle, his full weight laid carefully against the heft slab of wood as it opens. He thinks it strange, seeing his caretaker like this, still and silent as he sleeps, shrouded in naught but the shadows that line the room. All he's ever seen of this man has been in sunlight, if not by the dim comparison of odd lamps and candles scattered about his workspace.

How different he looks now, draped in sheets the shade of blood, seemingly devoid of the trademark flair he displays so publicly to all who meet him. In the dim light of the bedchamber, he looks almost _lifeless_.

Noctis trembles and works his way around to the far side of the room, folding a corner of the bedding down just enough to make space for him to sidle up against the occupant's side. This man has been good to him, patient, his eyes warm like the golden light of day, even amid a mess of strenuous ventures and business dealings that sets Noctis' head to spinning.

The man shifts, and Noctis hears his body creak like old trees in the wind, a heavy breath pulled from his lungs in what must be some relief. The boy inches closer, pressing himself squarely against his caretaker's back, little arms working between his body and the mattress to wind themselves around his middle. He startles then – which, in turn, incites an electric fear within Noctis – and casts an alarmed look over a shoulder, looking almost as if he's seen a spirit.

"I'm sorry," Noctis whispers, and quickly pulls away, gaze downcast to where his fingers twist hard into sheets. "I... I had a bad dream, and – "

"Is _that_ all?"

There's a weariness in his guardian's tone, the likes of which Noctis has never heard before. He expects it's the result of being startled awake by the frigid, trembling hands of a seven-year-old child, but there's something _else_ lingering in the man's gaze that Noctis is not yet experienced enough to place.

But it's something that speaks of _pain_.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, and shuffles to the edge of the bed, "I'll go back to my room..."

_"Noctis."_

Sock feet have barely grazed the floor when he hears his name on that quiet breath, and turns, catching sight of the man raking a tangled mess of auburn hair from his face, nodding briefly to the empty space at his side.

"Are you tired?" the boy queries as he climbs back into the sheets, little hand coming to rest against a stubbled jaw.

"Ah." He swallows, forearm draped lazily over his eyes as he falls back into the sheets. _"Always."_

"...'m sorry."

Shifting to face him, the man's other arm encircles Noctis easily, long fingers brushing through feathered black hair in gentle circles that the boy finds rather comforting.

"That's quite enough talk for tonight, don't you think?"

Noctis grunts his agreement, hunkering down beneath saccharine sheets, knees tucked up to his chest and a fist closed tightly in his guardian's night shirt.

"Goodnight, Uncle," he whispers, and feels the soft, warm gust of breath against the crown of his head.


End file.
